Early Grave
by Lockheed
Summary: Set immediately after the events in Robin 91 - Now finished!
1. Default Chapter

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Right. My first fanfic, and I'm a little nervous, so be gentle. Set immediately after the events in Robin 91 ignoring anything that happens later (I often ignore things). YJ don't turn up until the second chapter but I can't think where else to put it. What else? Oh yes - I'm English, so I may be behind in comic books, and may use an odd turn of phrase ;) Comments would be appreciated, of course. It's only PG as a "just in case". First person, but switches to third at one point. I'm sure I had a good reason at the time but it has unforutunately slipped my mind now. Is that the last of the notes? Think so. I'll get back to you with any more ;) 1 of 4.  
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center***/center  
p  
Light, so strong it burns. I squeeze my eyes more tightly closed but it's no use. I'm awake. I'm also so cold I'm numb.p  
I drag my eyelids open. I don't think it's ever been so hard just to open my eyes. All I can see, for a long time, is white on white on white . . . I turn my head slightly and there's the cliff behind me, white as bone. It gives me vertigo just looking at it. p  
Worryingly, though, the tiny movement of turning my head makes white-hot pains shoot through my neck. I lay still for a while, face down in the snow, listening to my uneven, painful breathing. I try to remember what happened, and it comes back in a horrible rush.p  
I can't see Sir Edmund or Danny. Somehow I don't think they're alright, but a small part of me that isn't mostly concerned with pain and coldness hopes they are. Danny, at any rate. p  
I can't seem to move anything. I don't know if it's the cold or something more serious. Don't think about that now, Tim. But - p  
But I fell a heck of a long way. Something must have broken. Oh God, don't let it be anything important. Another pain shafts up my back and I grit my teeth. Don't let it be anything important.p   
I twist my head a fraction of an inch and I can feel hot wires running through my neck. This isn't ifair/i, I want to wail. It isn't, it isn't . . . why couldn't the fall have just killed me? I don't want to lay here and wait to freeze to death. It could take days. Who's going to find me? Oh God . . .p  
I close my eyes for a moment and try not to focus on self-pity. I have to get out of this somehow. Something cold and sticky on the side of my face. Blood? I concentrate on my left hand, which I can feel, a little - kind of warm and tingly. I can just see my other hand, my right one, in the corner of my vision, and I don't dare move my head any more. I watch my right hand very closely and strain.p  
There . . . I can make my fingers twitch. Nothing too important can have broken then. I hope. Unless I've just lost the use of my legs. I don't fancy crawling all the way back to Gotham much. p  
I can move my whole hand now, but I'm also noticing the cold properly. If I survive this, I'm going to have words with Dick about making a stupid costume with stupid short stupid sleeves. I put my hand on the hard-packed snow and try pushing myself up, experimentally. p  
The pain's so strong it's startling, and for a second I can't even breathe before I just lay still again, chest shuddering. This is awful. This is worse than awful. I'm going to die all alone in the middle of -  
pDon't panic, don't panic . . . I have to think of something. Think.   
pUnless I start moving around I'm going to freeze pretty quickly. Breathing's harsh. The air itself is too cold. I can think of a hundred places I'd rather be right now.   
pOkay. Count your blessings. You're alive. You have the use of one arm and your eyes, and King Snake's nowhere to be seen. It could be worse. The Joker could be here . . .   
pProblems: I ionly/i have the use of one arm and my eyes. Not being able to see King Snake's even scarier. Danny's probably dead. I won't last one night out here. If those yeti or the Kobra catch up with me again I'm dead. I may have lost the use of my legs permanently. No-one knows I'm here except Alfred, and he doesn't know exactly where-  
pAlfred!  
pI try to reach my radio. My shoulder aches but I manage, just. But when it comes to speaking -   
pI'm surpised at how hard it is. My throat seems to have seized up and I can only manage a strangled gargle. I think I want to cry. I blink slowly and manage to choke out, "Al- Alfred?"  
p No answer. The radio's broken. Doomed.  
pMy head hits the snow again. Stupid snow. It's cold and hard and it's going to kill me. No - no, I ihave/i to get up, I have to. I have to find help, even if it's just Kobra. At least then I'll die in the warm. I put my hand down, grit my teeth, and push.   
pOkay. This is something. I'm shaking like hell on my hands and knees but I'm up, and I can maybe stand if I try hard enough. There's a spatter of blood across the snow, from my head. I can't let my left arm touch the ground. It's definitely broken. Not only does it hurt like hell, but it's gone a sort of sickly purple-grey with bruising. I'm also pretty sure I've lost a couple of ribs, from the fire in my chest, but most worrying is my neck. It hurts a ilot/i, just along from my left shoulder, which I must've landed on. Okay. Possibilty of a broken collar bone. Nothing to worry about.   
pOh God, I'm going to die.  
p Stay positive. Stay positive. With the most taxing push of my life I rock back onto my knees and hug my broken arm against myself, shivering. I can see properly now, the shattered snow of the avalanche. A slow warmth spreads though me. I was lucky - lucky beyond belief - to land on top of it all. The others must have been crushed underneath. Another emotion replaces it quickly; a gnawing guilt. This was all for nothing. Danny's still dead.   
p My darkest moment, I think bleakly, kneeling in a snowy wasteland somewhere above a dead and frozen friend with more broken bones and bruises than I can count. On top of that, not a living soul knows where I am and I will undoubtedly die out here.   
p Mind you, if Bruce ever does find me the body'll be preserved pretty well in all this ice-  
pOh, shut up. Stupid common sense. I sink slightly lower into myself. Can't remember ever feeling so helpless. There's a way out of this. Batman could think of one. Come on, Tim . . .  
pWho exactly am I trying to kid? I'm no Batman. I'll never get chance to be, now. Dead before I'm even old enough to drink. Sorry, Dad. I never meant for this to happen, I promise-  
pI swallow hard. I'm about to shake my head but I think better of it as another shooting pain travels down my side. There has to be something I can do. Dig a snow cave, even, just some way to get warm.   
p I manage to get one foot on the ground, but as I try to raise the other my head swims with the pain. A broken leg as well, then. Thank you. I really needed that right now.   
pUsing my only working hand and the sharp edge of a batarang, I slice a triangle from my cape and tie my broken arm up. Okay. One problem taken care of. A few thousand to go.   
p My staff - damn. My staff got snapped by Sir Edmund. How am I going to get anywhere with a broken leg and no splint? I try to think what Bruce would do, but I feel numb down to my bone marrow, too cold to think. Too cold even to shiver. For a moment blind panic wells up - am I freezing to death? - but I stifle it and look around. Use your enviroment to your advantage.   
pWell, there's nothing to make a splint with. Maybe I could tie together a load of batarangs. Now there's a stupid idea.  
pWorst is my neck, because I can't move my head at all. If I jog it in the slightest I think I'm going to pass out with pain. This is - this is - this is indescribable. Has Bruce ever gone through anything like this? He must have, the night when - the night - God, at least I can walk. Sort of. If he beat Bane I can manage one little walk. Please let me manage one little walk.  
p In one burst of effort I stagger to my feet and stumble straight into the cliff, sliding down it slightly and sobbing under my breath. I'm hurting and cold and tired and miserable beyond belief. I can't walk and I don't know where I am or which way to go even if I could. I wish anyone was here, even Lobo, anyone . . .   
pBy leaning against the cliff and using that to bear my weight I can hop-limp awkwardly along, about ten steps a minute. It's slow, painful and infuriating but I don't have any choice. I don't want to die, not like this. Somewhere slightly less depressing than alone in a god-forsaken icehole, please.  
p After what I assume is a few hours - my sense of time's all out - I'm feeling a little warmer, but I hurt more than ever. My side's on fire, my arm's been bashed against the cliff more times than I can count, my leg's no better. I feel clumsy and awkward. I close my eyes for a moment, leaning on the cliff and panting. My vision's blurring now, and I know - I know with icy, dull horror - that I'm dying. It's beginning to get dark and I'm going to freeze to death.  
pI'm sorry, Dad.   
pJust keep going. If I'm concentrating on moving, one step at a time, I can ignore the way the cliff's beginning to merge in with the snow in front, and the way my feet are like two open wounds with cold.   
pIf I have to die, let it be quick. Just drop down and end it, I can't lay there and wait for it, sinking deeper and deeper into numbness. I lower my head. On top of everything else, everything I'm struggling through, I feel - well, stupid. It just seems so pathetic, not even able to stand on my own, barely able to speak, shambling along the cliff even though I don't know where it leads. Yes, I do. It leads to nothing.   
pStupid cliff.   
pI trip over a chunk of rock lying beside the cliff and pitch forward with a cry of shock. I get a microsecond to realise this is going to hurt a ilot/i and then I'm lying face down in the snow, my neck a solid lump of pain, arm burning, chest agony. I really want to cry now. I think I'll just lay here and die, thank you.   
pNo . . .   
pI have to get up, I have to . . .  
pCan you hear that?   
pWho am I talking to? Oh God, I've gone crazy on top of everything else. But - but I can hear a dull roaring, very low and muted like - like -  
pOne shoulder pressed against the cliff, I drag myself one last time to my feet and look up. There's something dark and sharp outlined against the sky, but its outline is shimmering like swamp gas. I think I'm hallucinating. I put my head against the cliff, ignoring the red hot wiring through my neck and half-close my eyes, looking down at where my feet meet the snow but even that's unclear now, and looks so far away. I hear a shivering sigh and realise it's mine. I wish -  
p"Tim?"   
pI twist my head so sharply my neck screams in retaliation and I'm swaying as I look at the dark shape, still with shock, standing over me. I don't know whether to laugh or cry.   
pI faint instead.   
p  
center ***/centerp  
Warm. Comfy. Think I'll stay still for a bit, before I work out where I am. Especially since it's probably even worse and I don't think I can face it right now.   
pI can hear voices, though . . . but I can't make out any words, just the low hum. Male. Might be speaking English, but it might be Esperanto for all I know. I try to open an eye and find I can't, but I'm not too worried about that yet. That's a problem for the future.  
pI can still twitch the fingers on my right arm, and my left arm feels less like it's been put through a mangle. Maybe I'm going to survive after all. Wonder where I am.   
pIf I thought opening my eyes was hard in the snow, it seems to take forever here. For a brief moment I think my eyelids have been sewn shut, but that brings on a wave of nausea and I have to lay still for a moment and think happy thoughts.   
pIt passes. I open one eye - the other's held shut with something.   
pCan't see immediately left or right. Some sort of clamp holding my head in place. Good start. I look down and see sheets. Even better. I might just go to sleep again and let the future take care of itself.  
pI manage to move my head enough - there's a tingle of pain but it's nothing compared to earlier and I ignore it - to pull myself slightly up from the pillow to listen better and I recognise one voice. You can't miss that accent. Alfred.  
pSafe.  
pI take a moment to blink rapidly and fully wake myself up, and then I feel a yawn overtake me. Hurts my neck again. I shiver and go limp. I hate this. Maybe I'm hurt worse than I thought. Maybe I just hallucinated limping along the cliff and I spent the whole time lying in the snow.   
pRecognise another voice now. Sounds like Bruce and Alfred made up. They're not shouting, at any rate, but that doesn't always mean anything around Bruce. If he whispers in the right tone of voice you want to kill yourself.   
pI wonder if he knows that?   
pPlane, I think sleepily, looking up at the ceiling as the entire room jolts, ignoring the shock of pain running through my neck. We're going home. Wonder why I'm not more upset about this? Everything seems very detached and unimportant, like it's happening to someone else.   
pPainkillers, a little voice says. You're probably stuffed with them.   
pGood. I've had enough of pain.   
pHang on. I can hear a third voice. Very upset. Well, very loud, and the tone's kind of angry. Shut up. Please. Headache. Can't you hear me? Shut-  
pOh yes. I'm only speaking in my head. Stupid painkillers. It's Dick, I think. He sounds pretty frantic. Hope he's okay. Wish he'd shut up.   
p"Shut up,"   
pIt only comes out as a croak but silence falls immediately. I can't remember, now, if I said it out loud or not. Two faces appear at the right hand side of me, Dick and Alfred. I blink slowly. Must've spoken out loud after all.  
p"Headache," I say, because I'm already exhausted with the effort of being awake and need to conserve words.  
p"Hey, Tim." Dick says very quietly, I try to focus on him but he's all blurry. This seems very funny for a moment but I stifle any giggles. I don't even grin. I'm getting good at this.   
p"I'm afraid we had to use rather a lot of painkillers, master Timothy."   
pI knew it. Hah, master detective. Feel very nauseous now. Hope I don't throw up.   
p"How d'you feel?" Dick says.   
pI consider it from a few angles. I'm alive. Last time I was awake - it can't have been that long ago if we're not home yet - I knew I was dying; not just thought but iknew/i. Now I'm safe and warm and very, very sleepy.   
pOn the other hand, Danny's dead. I - I failed him . . . how could I let him die? He just saved my life five minutes before I let him fall . . .  
pI managed to beat King Snake again, barely. But the memory of hollow, burnt-out eyesockets makes my head swim again. I got out of Kobra alive. Kobra itself looked pretty trashed when we left. Beating a top-secret cult all on your own. Not bad.  
pI find a word to encompass all of this, and feel a strange pride for finding it. I think it's the painkillers. Everything's still very fuzzy.  
p"Tired," I say.   
pAnother thought wakes up and jostles for attention. Bruce is going to be mad. Really mad. Foaming at the mouth. Oh God, why did I do any of this? I wish - I wish anything. I wish they'd let me die.   
p"Is-" I swallow for a moment. I need a drink. I continue, very quietly so he can't hear, "Is Bruce really mad . . . ?"  
pDick gives a low groan. "It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Don't worry about anything except getting better. Okay?"  
pPainkillers are wearing off. This means two things. One, I can now think properly and I'm beginning to worry. Two, my ieverything/i is killing me.   
p"What're we gonna tell my dad?" I say faintly. I can't imagine. He'll be furious.   
pAlfred and Dick look at each other. "Skiing accident," Dick settles on. "You're still worrying, aren't you?"   
p"Waking up a bit," I say grimly. "It's just - oh God, I fell off a cliff." It seems very important, this point, suddenly. "What was I doing? How did I manage to -? I mean, it's not like I couldn't see the damn great thing -"   
p"Tim," Dick says urgently.  
p"And I could have heard Sir Edmund coming up. I was just so worried Danny would work everything out . . . not that it matters any more . . . I could have saved one of them-"  
p"Tim!" Dick snaps. I try to focus on him. I can make out his expression now, and it's flickering constantly - surprise and horror and what looks a lot like fear.   
p"Yes?" I say quietly. I'm just about spent up in guilt. I just want to sleep now. Or maybe burst into tears.  
p". . ." Dick stares down at me, puzzled. "Sir Edmund Dorrance? King Snake?"   
pI try to nod and bite my lip at the pain. "Yes," I say quietly. "He used . . . the Lazarus pit, got his sight back. We had a fight . . . he got some cobra venom in his eyes. Burned them out." I press the nightmare image to the back of my mind and close my eyes. I try not to imagine what it must have felt like. "Went over the cliff with me and Danny."   
p"Lazarus pit . . . ?" Alfred murmurs, and I assume it's for Bruce's benefit because he gives a grunt from somewhere further away. He's flying the plane. I think. Are we on a plane? Everything unfocuses and then comes back again. My head feels very, very strange.   
p"I'm sorry," I say very quietly. "I didn't want any of this. it just - happened . . ."   
pI close my eyes and try to think about going to sleep. Want to sleep. Want to forget everything that happened this past week, want it to be wiped from history.   
pMore than anything I want to cry. I don't, but I can feel my breathing quickening.   
p"It was my fault, master Timothy." Alfred says dimly. "I was supposed to be watching you. I should not have let this happen."   
p"It's no-one's damn fault," Good old Dick. If you can't find an answer, get angry. "If anyone, it's King Snake . . ."   
pHe makes a frustrated noise and when I open my eyes, feeling drowsy, he's gone. I can hear him pacing around. I sigh, and stare into the middle distance. I can't believe Danny's dead. I tried, Danny, I did . . .   
pI see Dick's face again. I give him a weary look, but he seems very concerned about something. "Tim - do you know he's dead? Sir Edmund?"   
p"He fell of a great big cliff," I say vaguely. "There's a pretty good chance of it."   
p"iYou/i survived."  
p"Don't remind me." I mutter.   
p"Tim," he says warningly.  
p"I messed everything up," I say, and I think I'm going to cry again. "I- Dick, ieverything/i. I'm so sorry . . ."  
p"It's the painkillers talking,"   
p"It's not," I say, and everything's blurred again but it's tears this time. "I did. I wrecked everything and Danny's dead and it's all my fault. And I got you guys into all this trouble. And it sucks, and I'm sorry-"   
pMy voice goes all high and strange and I think, Maybe it *is* the painkillers . . .   
p"Just go to sleep, Tim." he says, and he sounds kind of strange as well. I close my eyes until the hot, tickling sensation goes away. I don't think I'm ever going to sleep again. I feel something prick my arm but I can't make my eyes open, and then the world sucks in around me and fades to darkness.  
p  
center ***/centerp  
Footsteps, echoing. Big room, I think, and feel a little proud of this. Two major points of detective work in as many days. Or nights. I can't remember what the last one was, but I'm sure it was very important. Or maybe not. Oh, my head hurts.   
p  
Eyes open slowly. The Cave. I sigh slightly, strain to see the ceiling high above and wonder where everyone is. Hang on. I heard footsteps not two minutes ago. Must be more painkillers. Have to focus. What happened?  
p  
Ice and pain . . . hobbling through the dark . . . the plane, and - and guilt. There you go. Guilt. I have managed to screw up in a major way again. What did I do this time?   
p  
Oh yeah . . .   
p  
Feel even worse now. Oh, God. Everything's ruined. Why is my life always such a shambles?  
p  
I try to raise my arm but it's pinned down with something. Sheets. You know you've hit the bottom when you haven't got the strength to lift up a sheet. Footsteps again. I try to focus on the face looming over me. Dick. He gives me a tired sort of grin and I summon strength I didn't know I had to return it. "What're you doing here?" I murmur, feeling my head throb.   
p  
"Took a few days off work. How're you feeling?"   
p  
I think about it for a while and settle on honesty. "Terrible."   
p  
I try to move my arm again, and sigh. Another, very morbid, thought occurs. I wonder what's wrong with me? I don't quite know how to ask.   
p  
I think Dick must've read my mind, because he picks up a notepad from somewhere - I can't see properly left or right - and I can make out Alfred's neat handwriting. "Considering what happened and what could have happened . . ." He shakes his head. I got off easy. I know that. "Arm broken in two places. Broken leg. Two ribs. Collar bone. Nasty head wound. Numerous cuts and bruises. And that shiner,"   
p  
One eye's still held shut. That's why, then. It doesn't matter, anyway. "How'd you find me?"   
p  
"Your locational transmitter cut out after a while, so we just followed it to the last site of transmition. And found a bit of a mess," He puts the notepad back onto what I assume is a table. Can't move my head at all. "You left quite a nice trail for us, though. We followed in the Batwing. Alfred called Oracle when you didn't turn up again," he adds, because I must look pretty puzzled.   
p  
"So how far did I get?"   
p  
"About three kilometres. Which isn't bad, in the circumstances. How far did you expect to get like that?"  
p  
I try to think about it, but it makes my head hurt even more. "Nowhere, really. Just . . . passing the time."   
p  
"We didn't find anyone else," he says carefully, and I shiver. Far away from the ice and the danger of slow, cold death, I can't see the fall killing Sir Edmund. I'm never going to be rid of him. "Tim," he says, sounding very wretched, "we need to know what happened in a little more detail . . ."  
p  
I close my eyes and ignore my buzzing head. "Great," I mutter.   
p  
"We can wait until-"  
p  
"No," I say firmly. I want to get it all out right now so I never have to think about it, ever again. I hear the scrape of a chair, and close my eyes, because I can't look at him while I say this, and tell him everything. From the moment Danny mentioned the spring break trip to the Servitors, and the little yetis and the scary snake lady - Eve - and the Lazarus pit, King Snake getting his sight back, the fight, the mad Servitor, Danny's weird new suit, the snake venom -   
p  
I feel so tired now I want to sleep more than ever. I open my eyes dimly and look up at him. He hasn't interrupted once, not even for the yeti.  
p  
"Danny opened the door and we ran for it, then we came to the cliff. I was still trying to think how we'd get past it when Sir Edmund grabbed me from behind and -" my chest contracts as I think of his eyes. "The yeti shoved us off the cliff and a load of snow came down with us. When I woke up . . ."  
p  
I don't tell him that I thought I was going to die. I think he knows that anyway, but it all seems so stupid now. I finish when I passed out after seeing what I assume now was Bruce, and then I wait to see how he takes it.   
p  
"Well," he says, "all you need's a thousand elephants and that's one heck of a story."   
p  
Still a little giddy with exhaustion, I feel an intense wave of gratitude for Dick. I couldn't bear seriousness right now. I've had enough of that in the last week to last me a lifetime.   
p  
"Is Bruce ever going to forgive me?" I say quietly. Dick sits back, yawns. I wonder how long he's been up.   
p  
"He's not mad at you," he says. "He's inot/i, really. Anyway, he feels bad about it anyway."   
p  
"It was my fault," I mumble.  
p  
"He thinks it was - that fight you had a little while ago. He's blaming himself and you're blaming yourself. God, what a pair."   
p  
I fight the urge to stick my tongue out at him. "If I could hit you now, I would." I tell him. He laughs weakly. "Is he really not mad?"   
p  
"No, no. Do you ever stop worrying?"   
p  
"Probably not," Everything's going to be alright. I try to hang on to that thought. "Where's Alfie?"  
p  
"Chased him off to bed a couple of hours ago. It's been pretty crazy 'round here. Don't make a habit of falling off mountains."   
p  
"Hahah. Where's Bruce?"  
p  
"Someone has to keep an eye on the city. You know what it's like if he leaves it for a few days."   
p  
I can barely even blink now. "I feel really weird," I say, a little worried.  
p  
"You're full of painkillers and tranquilisers. Try to get some sleep."   
p  
"Okay. Thanks, Dick."   
p  
His voice comes from a very long way away. "Any time, kiddo."  
p  
center ***/centerp  
My run of dreamless sleep is broken by confused memories of eyes being burned out and falling off cliffs. I wake with a pounding head and throat so dry I can't actually breathe. I can't hear anyone else in the Cave and I feel terrible.   
pI don't even realise what's happening until I'm sitting up, little after-shocks of pain coursing through me. I need a glass of water ibadly/i. How did I sit up? I don't remember.   
pQuite dark, but that might be my eyes. Eye. Can't wait till I'm better again. My leg's in a pot and I have a big clunky collar on, but I can't draw breath without choking. I know where there's a water dispenser. Hard to walk. Very drowsy. I almost walk into it - I hadn't realised how far I'd walked - and strain to see it properly.   
pI feel a lot better after a drink, actually, but still very light-headed. Now I just have to head back to bed. Whoah, that's a long way. This may - take - some - time . . .  
p  
center ***/centerp  
Cave won't stop spinning. My neck hurts worse than ever. I unglue my eyes and look up, and tense.  
pI'm back in bed and Bruce is standing over me, in costume, the cowl still pulled up. I don't remember making it all the way back. Did I pass out? Don't let me have passed out. I'll be a good person for the rest of my life if only-  
p"What did you think you were doing? Don't you realise how dangerous that was, in your state?"   
pBruce's tombstone voice. I cringe back involuntarily. "I-" I swallow, look up at him. "I'm sorry . . ."  
pHe shakes his head and stalks away. I wish I knew if he meant getting up or the whole Kobra/King Snake/cliff incident. Now I feel even worse. I don't get why he's so mad this time. It's not like I don't have a bizarre habit of picking ridiculous odds. And I never do it on purpose. Things just - just ihappen/i around me.  
pDad and Dana are on holiday in France. They won't get back for another week, in which time I have to perfect my story of "how I fell of a cliff in a totally innocent manner, involving no crazy snake cults whatsoever". I don't really care right now. I just want my dad. The entire world's gone crazy.   
  
p  
center ***/centerp   
  
Dick stumbled into the kitchen, yawning, and found Bruce glaring down at a coffee cup. The younger man paused in the doorway and watched him for a moment, until Bruce spoke. "What're you still doing here?" p  
"Good morning to you too," Dick growled. "What happened ithis/i time?"   
pBruce looked at him for a long time and then said slowly, "I'm sorry, Dick. I'm just under a lot of stress right now."  
p"Aren't we all?"   
p"You can go back to Bludhaven whenever you want."   
p"It's probably better I hang around here," Dick said, watching his face carefully. "Tim's still pretty torn up about this whole thing and you being your usual sunny self probably isn't making him feel any better."   
pBruce took a sip of coffee carefully. "The boy has a death wish."   
p"No wonder he fits in so well with this crowd, then."   
p"I found him lying on the floor of the Cave. God knows what he was doing."   
A worried look passed over Dick's face, and then froze. "Hang on. How did you react?"   
pHe looked up. "What do you mean? What does it matter?"   
p"It imatters/i because he's got practically no self confidence right now and you're not helping matters," Dick snapped, and marched off for the Cave, wondering what he would find there.   
  
  
p  
center ***/centerp   
  
  
  
"Tim? Are you awake?"   
pI open my eyes. Dick. My head's buzzing so badly I can barely see him. "Yeah," I say, but it comes out kind of mangled. The inside of my skull's made of hot wire-wool.   
p"Are you okay? What happened?"   
pEyes feel too hot. Should I tell him? "Needed . . ." Can hardly breathe again. This sucks. "Needed a glass of water . . . passed out on the way back." I swallow and close my eyes, but it doesn't make me feel any better. "Bruce is really mad . . ."  
p"Bruce is a jerk," Dick says shortly. "Are you okay? You look-"  
pCan't breathe. I know it isn't this hot in the Cave. "Can't-" I don't think I can manage the next word. My throat's seizing up. I hear a scramble and Dick saying something, but everything's coming through cotton wool now. I'd like to just lose consciousness but instead I'm trapped somewhere between waking and sleeping and I still can't get my hot, dry lungs to work-  
p  
center ***/centerp   
Cold. Voices. Pain.   
p Sleep.  
p  
center ***/centerp   
I can hear Bruce and Alfred talking but it's like my ears have popped, so I'm just getting nonsense. Really, really hot, but I'm shivering. I wish I knew what was happening. Feel appalling. Can't stay conscious. Slip away.  
p  
center ***/centerp  
Open my eyes. Head's kind of fuzzy and eyes are burning but I can see. Blink slowly and yawn. I wonder what time it is. Wonder what day it is, actually. I don't know how long it's been since I went over the cliff, but it must be a matter of days now.   
pI see a head hovering somwhere above me, but even if I squint I can't make it out. I try out a sentence. It comes out quite well, but a little quieter and more quavery than I imagined it would. "What time is it?"   
pThere's a pause and a slight rustle. "Five past six. Morning."   
pBruce's voice. Wonder if he's still mad?  
p"What iday/i is it?"   
p"Tuesday. You've been asleep for three days."   
p"Feels like longer,"   
pThere's another pause and then, "You contracted pneumonia. All the added stress didn't help."  
pI digest this for a while. How are you meant to react to something like this? "Oh," I say. I can see him properly now, dressed for "work" but with the cowl down.   
pI swallow. "I'm sorry. About everything. It all just - I couldn't stop any of it happening."   
pHe smiles. I wonder if we're having the same conversation, or if he's hearing something entirely different.   
p"It's not your fault, Tim. I know as well as anyone how one thing can lead to another. Just try not to take on a world-wide cult alone next time."   
pI can't believe this. "Okay," I say warily.   
p"How are you feeling?"   
pI consider it, and I'm quite pleased with the answer. "Better," I say. "Not so - well, not as if I'm dying anymore."   
pHe stands up and walks away, but comes back with a pile of paper in his hand. "Messages. Your friends wanted to know where you t the computer.   
p"I didn't. Dick contacted them a while ago, but I don't know what he said."   
p"Great," I mutter. I don't want to know what Dick told them, knowing Dick. No wonder they're so panicked. Can't wait to be back on my feet. The last few days have been a nightmare but I can forget them and start again, with no crazy snake cults. And I'm going to stay away from cliffs, too.   
/html


	2. Part 2

rfic2

html  
  
Okay, part II and enter Young Justice!  
pcenter***/center p  
  
Dick looked up. A steady, uneven clomping sound was echoing around the Cave, and he couldn't think what could be making it. Pursing his lips, he spun on the chair in front of the computer and looked out across the flat Cave floor.  
p"Tadaa,"   
pHe grinned slightly. Tim was leaning on one of his bo staffs, leg still in a pot and arm in a sling but looking a lot better. "All the way across the Cave. I deserve a medal."  
p"What're you doing?" Dick asked.  
p"I'm bored, so I came to reply to all of these." Tim waved a handful of paper. "Cassie emails me every hour on the hour to ask me what to do and Bruce keeps printing them out to give to me. I'm snowed in back there. I think he thinks it's funny."  
p"Yeah, well, he always could use a sense of humour transplant." Dick moved off the chair so Tim could sit down and ceremoniously drop the paper into the waste paper basket.   
p"Did you ever have this much trouble with the Titans?"   
pDick considered it. "We never had Impulse," he said eventually, and Tim sighed.  
p"I really dread to think what my inbox looks like," he said glumly.  
p"I'll leave you to it. Good luck!"  
p"Yeah, thanks for all your help." Tim muttered, typing awkwardly with one hand. "Stupid Young stupid Justice. This is going to take hours."   
  
pcenter***/center p   
  
Bruce doesn't approve of this, but you should have iseen/i the pictures of Happy Harbor Cassie sent me. It did bring up some interesting questions, such as how exactly one gets cheese spray on the ceiling, or how much effort it takes to ground Oreos that deeply into carpet. One thing I do know for sure is I am not going to clean it up.   
pWhy can I see myself having to clean it up?  
pDick drops me off - driving one handed is more than a little hard, especially when I still have to limp around with a staff and - don't tell Dick - have a tendancy to pass out at inopportune moments. I suppose I might have been better off if I hadn't walked three kilometres on my leg, but there wasn't a lot of choice in the circumstances. I stare at the mouth of the cave with a pit opening in my stomach. This is going to be hideous. I look back at Dick and he's ilaughing/i. All I can do is pull a face, take a deep breath and walk in.   
p"Gah!"  
pOkay. First we'll open a window. I lean out and take a few deep breaths of air, and as my sling bounces off the glass I give another little yelp of frustration. Right. I can see myself going home in a very ratty mood today.   
pAs I finally find some curtains to open I pin Superboy in the dusty ray of light. He stops like a rabbit caught in the headlights. "I can see you, Kon." I snap. "If you make one more step for that door I'll brain you with a batarang."   
pHe stops and leans against the wall guiltily. "What the heck happened here?" I say. "Come to think of it, do I want to know?"   
pHe coughs, scuffs the floor. "Girls were having a pyjama party. Me and Bart didn't know, honest. We just came by and - uh - got into a bit of a fight with them."   
p"Okay," I look at the broken furniture. "Fine. The cheese on the ceiling?"   
p"I was kinda hoping you wouldn't see that."  
pi"Kon,"/i   
p"Bart did it."  
p"Hey!"  
p"Ahah!"  
p"Oops."   
pThey're both cornered now and they know it. "I'm going to find the girls. You two are going to start cleaning all of this up right now."   
p"You're not the boss of me," Kon mutters.  
p"And I'm thankful every day that I'm not," I really don't have the patience for this right now. My arm's hurting me again, I'm still feeling tired and queasy and it really does stink in here. "Just do it or the place'll smell like this forever."   
pBart shoves a mop into his hands - neither of us noticed him fetching them; we tend not to when we start squabbling. I wish I didn't get into a fight with Kon every time I see him, but he really is infuriating.  
p"Why aren't iyou/i helping?" he mutters, swinging the mop over his shoulder and scowling.   
p"One, I didn't make the mess. Two, I ican't/i."  
pI step out of the darkness to the side of the window. I know I look a mess. I have an interesting scar on my left temple where my head hit the ground really, ireally/i hard, one arm's still sling-bound and I'm limping heavily, as well as being pale and generally ill-looking. I'm glad of the mask, even if it is a nuisance to get on one-handed. I can see their expressions very clearly, stunned, but I know I'm covered. I shake my head. "I'm going for the girls. Start cleaning."   
pAnd then I have to limp out of the room. I wish I'd left this till later, at least until I could walk properly. It's humiliating. Dick won't tell me what he said happened to me, anyway. Knowing Dick he told them an elephant sat on me. I really don't know if I can face them right now. How come the earth only opens under me when I really don't want it to?  
pThe girls are in the gym, which is less of a wreck than the rest of the cave. You don't want to know what it looked like in the showers. So I just turn on a bat-voice from the shadows and growl, "Main chamber. Now. Bring dusters."   
pI watch the stampede run past and then sigh and hobble after them. This stinks. Everyone was a little out of my league here before I lost the use of two limbs, and now I just feel - useless. It's not going to be a fun day.   
pBecause one arm's in a sling and the other's occupied with my makeshift crutch, I really can't do anything. By now I'm also convinced Sir Edmund didn't die in the fall, so I can't help wondering what shape he's in. He didn't have anyone to fetch him before he froze to death. Maybe he did. He always seems to have henchmen by the dozen.   
pWhen I enter everyone's already cleaning furiously. I wonder if they're joking or if they really are scared of me, sometimes. One thing I know is I'll never be in Batman's freakiness league. I stand in the doorway for a while, leaning on it slightly, feeling more and more drowsy. Bruce really is gonna be mad when he finds out. If there was some way to show him how much this place reeks I'm sure he'd understand.   
pI turn away and wander through the cave, looking for a room they didn't trash. I eventually find a sofa buried in magazines but otherwise unharmed, shake them off it and collapse, too tired even to notice the apple cores on the cushions.  
pcenter***/center p   
  
I jerk awake to find my neck's killing me and worry for a second before I realise it's because I'm lying in a very uncomfortable position. I raise my head blearily and try to think where I am. I wrinkle my nose as I catch the smell and everything comes back. I sit up in time for everyone to tumble in, marching in rough step, and salute with a motley arsenal of feather dusters, mops and sweeping brushes.   
p "All correct and in order, sir." Kon says, stamping his foot. I try to make myself look at him but it's hard to keep my eyes open, so I just lean back and speak with my eyes closed.  
p "You cleaned the cheese off the ceiling."  
p "Yup."  
p "Got the chocolate off the windows."  
p "Uh-huh."  
p "Scraped the paint out of the showers."  
p "You know about the showers?"  
p "I'll know if you just shoved everything under the table,"   
p "We didn't, mom."   
p I wish he hadn't said that. I manage to force one eye open and give him half a glare, but Cassie suddenly breaks into a giant grin. "I'm so glad you're back!"  
p Considering where I could be right now - i.e. under a few hundred tons of ice five thousand miles from home - I'm quite glad I'm back, too.   
p "And," Bart says proudly, "we're inot/i going to ask about what happened." Kon kicks him in the leg without moving his gaze, staring into the middle-distance, at all.   
p Bart rubs his leg. "What was that for?" he snaps.   
p Cassie sighs. "Sorry, Rob. Nightwing said you might not want to talk about it so just don't ask, but-" I can see her eyes flicker to the sling. Considering what Dick could have told them, I got off easy.   
p I shake my head. "iThis/i I got falling off a cliff. It's how I got to be on the cliff that I don't really want to think about."   
p "You fell of a cliff?" Impulse looks very surprised, as if this shouldn't be a problem at all and he falls off cliffs all the time. "There aren't any cliffs in Gotham."   
p "I wasn't in Gotham." I'm feeling way too tired for this right now. "I was in the Himalayas and got caught in an avalanche. Sort of." I can't really think how to explain it without telling the whole story, or at least I can't think how to now. "And I'm not really meant to be here. Batman doesn't know I'm up yet. I only came because it looked like you were all about to kill each other."   
p "It wasn't that bad," Secret says quietly. "We just missed you. And no-one would tell us what had happened, so we worried."   
p "You think iyou/i worried," I mutter. I know I'm being really moody but I feel weird, and I'm still bruised everywhere and in quite a lot of pain. No-one else is relaxing at all, and that just makes me tense up even more.   
p I pause curiously, because the room's beginning to swim, and next thing I know I'm kneeling on the floor with Kon holding me up. I blink at him blearily and he says quietly, "You okay, man?"  
p I nod slowly and try to sit back but my leg complains at me so I fall sideways, where Bart's already built up a wall of pillows in preparation. "'nkyou," I mumble. I feel really, really stupid.   
p "What ihappened/i?" Secret whispers.   
pI try to focus on to a stationary point of the room but nothing's holding still. For one horrible moment I think I'm going to hurl. It passes.  
p"I just black out every now and then," I say quietly, and roll onto my back to make the big push back to my feet. "Got hit on the head by a few things."   
p"Like what?"  
p"Several tons of ice, actually. Besides, I've been ill. I should be fine again in a few minutes.  
pBut I have a feeling I won't be, because the walls are closing in and it's so hot breathing isn't an option.   
pcenter***/center p  
I struggle back into consciousness slowly, and then try to take stock of my surroundings. I'm still lying on the floor in one of the rec rooms, half-on and half-off a pile of assorted cushions, but now there's a checked blanket over me. I wonder where they got that from, but then I remember it's Impulse we're dealing with and it's better not to ask.   
p"What time is it?" I mumble, pushing myself up on one arm. I hate passing out. I've lost all track of time.   
pCassie's the only one who's remembered a watch. "Just gone five. It's about half an hour since you blacked out."   
pThat's an improvement on my previous time of three days, anyway. "Oh," I say quietly. Bruce will definitely have missed me by now, and Dick can't cover for me for long. Invalids don't get up and wander off, usually. I hope he's not too mad.   
pCassie helps me up but my broken arm bounces off the sofa and I drop to my knees again, hugging my arm and shivering. Now it's too cold. I so do not need this right now. "I think I'd better call Batman," I say weakly.   
pKon shakes his head. "We've already had the call from his highness. You're not going anywhere."   
pI try to think what this means, but my head won't stop buzzing to let me think. Eventually, I give up. "What?"  
p"Nightwing called," Cassie says gently. "He said they'd - uh - "discussed" it and half your problem is stress. So maybe you should stay here for a while."   
p"He thinks this place is iless/i stressful?" I don't believe this.   
p"We did try to talk him out of it," Secret says. "We don't know anything about looking after sick people."  
p"For God's sake," I mutter. "I'm not an invalid. I just have - dizzy spells."   
p"Half hour long dizzy spells."   
p"Oh, shut up, Kon." I lean against the sofa and wipe my hair out of my eyes with my good hand. I feel really clammy and cold, and can't seem to stop shivering. "This stinks. I hate being sick."   
p"Don't we all?" Cassie mutters. Impulse shoves a thermometer into my mouth and I consider spitting it out but I don't know if I can summon the strength for that, so I just glare at them all.   
p"It's not our fault this happened," Secret says gently.   
pOkay, now I feel bad. I deflate even more. "Sorry, guys. I've just had a bad week is all." I say quietly.   
pI don't know if they'll understand what I mean. Kon might - he's been through a heck of a lot - and Bart has matured a little. Secret's certainly had more than her share of problems. Cassie . . . she takes the whole superhero thing a little lightly. I know something's going to burst her bubble sooner or later, but I wish it wouldn't. I entered the whole thing on a pretty low note, so I never had any hopes in the first place . . .  
p"So," Cassie says. "Do you want anything?"   
pI can't think. "To go to sleep," I say eventually.   
pBart grabs the thermometer and peers at it curiously. "Is that good?" he asks, showing it to me. I groan.  
p"Okay." Kon picks him up by the scruff of his neck. "We'll go now. Call if you need anything."   
pI wait until the door's closed. It's quite comfortably dark in here, and I take the mask off to rub my eyes. I really do feel awful. I also don't know why Bruce is making me stay here. Some sort of bizarre punishment for coming here in the first place? I burrow down in the pillows and try not to think about my throbbing head or aching arm. At least it doesn't smell any more. I yawn sleepily, and within moments I'm gone again.   
pcenter***/center p   
Horrible dream. I can't seem to shake the thought of Sir Edmund Dorrance's eyes burning out. It makes me queasy just to think about it.   
pI wake up and can't think where I am for a moment, disorientated by the dream. There's a weight on my head which I recognise after a moment as a hand, but I'm still too weak to find out whose. I look blearily into the darkness. Feels nice, actually. Makes me wish mom was still alive worse than ever. Eventually I try to raise my head.   
pSecret brushes the hair out of my face and smiles at me. "Sorry to wake you," she murmurs. "You just looked very sad."   
pI feel it. I'm also shivering again. I ihate/i being sick. "What time is it?" I mumble. I must sound obsessed, but I like knowing when it is and I'm totally disorientated right now.   
p"I don't know. I can go check."   
p"Doesn't matter." I think I'll just go back to sleep anyway. I'm sure it's good for me. Anyway, I don't care. I'm tired and hurting and cranky. I settle down again, but I can't relax. I never can when other people are around. After a few minutes Secret assumes I'm asleep again and leaves, just misting through the door cracks, and I hunch into a ball. Can't seem to get warm. Something fluorescent green winks in the darkness and I struggle to focus on it. The clock on the video, flashing midnight over and over again. Stupid thing. First thing tomorrow, I'm setting it properly.   
pThere's an explosion of noise from outside and a chorus of shushes. I sigh. Sounds like Kon and Bart bickering. Kon just isn't patient enough to deal with Impulse. I sit up and wrap the blanket around myself, still shaking. I can't get back to sleep like this anyway. I'll freeze to death. Somehow it feels colder than iactually/i freezing in the mountains . . .  
pI stagger to my feet and limp to the door, which I open a crack to get my bearings. By the sound of it, everyone's gathered in the main chamber. I sneak past, as the heaving Twister pile collapses on Bart with a wail, and into the kitchen.   
pWhat I really want is some comfort food like Alfred makes when we're ill or in a bad mood. But this is Young Justice's kitchen we're talking about, and all I find is a packet of stale digestives and one bottle of milk that isn't quite off. I can't face anything cold so I heat up the milk - still wrapped in the blanket and feeling very sorry for myself - and dip the biscuits in it until they turn to mush. It always makes Dick puke when I eat them like that. I don't like warm milk, actually. Too cold to care. When I've finished I just fold my arms awkwardly on the table and fall asleep there.   
pcenter***/center p  
I come to slowly and find, immediately in front of me, a pair of enormous yellow eyes. I fall back with a horrified, "Gah!" and Bart falls backwards off his stool with a yell. Secret's head appears around the doorway and I know I'm not going to get any more sleep now. The light filtering through the windows is almost horizontal, so it must be very early still.   
p"Jeeze, Bart." I mutter, rubbing my eyes. I left the mask in the rec room. I can get it later. Secret smiles slightly and vanishes again. I wonder what day it is, and work forwards from my three-day sleep. That was Tuesday. Wednesday I spent in and out of sleep. Thursday I got a great big pile of emails and knew I had to do something, arrived at Happy Harbor on Friday, so that means-  
pI groan. It's dawn on Saturday. I get a whole day of Young Justice. Whoop-de-doo.   
pHead throbbing, I shuffle out of the kitchen feeling very old for a fifteen year old, and peer into the main chamber. Cassie's asleep in a tent in the far corner - tents indoors, I think. They must've used them to get around Cassie's mom. Kon's sitting at the table nursing a cup of coffee and looking as if he's trekked through Hell and back. He glances up at me. "Bart woke us at the crack of dawn by rolling over and collapsing the tent," he croaks. "Hear it?"  
pI shake my head and find a chair - I don't care whose, I'm tired - to collapse into. "Whoah. You must've been really gone. Made enough noise to wake the dead."   
p"Did not," Bart scowls as he zips into the room.   
pKon does a waily impression of Bart. "Oh no, the slime-alien's got me! Aaaah!"  
pBart sniffs. "I was having a nightmare. Anyway, you made enough noise when it fell on you."   
pI'm suddenly very glad I spent the night in the kitchen. But I also can't help chuckling as the squabbling passes back and forth and then Cassie wakes up and yells at them. I'm feeling very detached from all of this, like it's a TV programme. Now that'd be an interesting sitcom.  
pThe computer starts beeping and I look at it wearily before plodding over. "It's Batman," I say, seeing the transmitter. The room clears instantly. I flick the visuals on and Dick's early-morning face blinks at me.   
p"Hey," he says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "D'you think I need a shave?"   
pI count to ten. "You called just to ask me that or -?"  
p"Nah. Just wondering if you're alright."   
p"Dick," I hiss, "you cannot leave me here. I'm not well enough to deal with this yet."   
p"I know. Babs hacked into the security cameras and we've been watching two of your little friends try to kill each other for the past thirty minutes. Do they do that often?"   
p"Only when they think I'm not looking. Sometimes when they're just in a bad mood. Sometimes they just want to drive me crazy."   
p"Listen," Dick yawns and then continues, "I know it's not exactly a world of fun there, but Bruce thinks you'll recover better if you can stop worrying about the rest of the world. So you're stuck there until he says so."   
p"I will die," I tell him bluntly. He nods.   
p"I know. I can't talk him out of it though, and you're probably better off there. He's in a bit of a bad mood."  
p"What is it this time?"   
p"Batgirl got mixed up with the Ghost Dragons last night. She didn't break a nail, of course, but there's an entire street totally wrecked. He's fuming."   
p"I'll bet." When I get stuck with the Dragons, usually it's me that gets wrecked. I don't have chance to think about the architecture. Lynx, Shiva, King Snake and Two Face I think bleakly. Just as long as they never think about teaming up I can maybe scrape through.   
p"Just try to loosen up a little. Think of it as a holiday."   
p"A holiday," I say flatly as I hear a crash from the kitchen. "Bad things always happen to me on my holidays."   
pThe crash was a frying pan of eggs sliding off the stove. While Cassie tries to clean up the hot fat and yelps and Kon yells at Bart, I turn off the hob and use a tea towel to put the frying pan in the sink. The room's beginning to close in again so I wander off muttering to myself, "iHoliday/i. I'll give him holiday-"  
pI almost walk straight through Secret. I step to the side for her. She's heading towards the kitchen with a concerned look on her face - probably because thick black smoke's now coming out of it. "Dampen a towel and throw it over," I shout after her.   
pI can't handle this right now. I'm too sick and too tired to deal with my barmy friends. I go back into the rec room, not really in the right frame of mind to look for a bed or anything, find my mask under the mess of pillows and go back to sleep.   
pcenter***/center p   
  
"Still asleep?" Cassie said, looking up from her magazine and wrinkling her nose. "You're sure he's breathing?"   
pSecret nodded glumly. "But he's not well. I wish we knew what to do with him."   
p"iWhy/i would Batman dump him on us?" Kon said, glancing momentarily away from the television. "Surely he knows we'll end up killing him."  
p"Kon!"  
p"Well, we will." Kon muttered. "We don't know what to do and he's still running a scary-high fever. Bats must have some whacky reasoning behind ithis/i."   
p"Maybe he's too busy," Bart said, making a tower out of checkers tiles.   
pThey thought about it for a while. "He's definitely not the sort of person you'd want looking after you if you were sick," Cassie admitted.   
p"I don't know," Secret murmured. "I mean, you'd know nothing could happen to you if he was there. And Robin really trusts him."   
pCassie tapped the magazine off the arm of her chair and then stood up. "Where're you goin'?" Kon said.   
p"To check on Robin. You might not be, but I'm really worried."   
pNo-one followed her. She closed the door behind her and snuck to the empty rec room - empty, of course, except for one dozing vigilante. The shaft of light from the door fell on his still shape amid the messy pile of cushions and Cassie realised that when Batman found out about this he iwould/i kill them.   
pShe stood uncertainly in the doorway, listening to his harsh, irregular breathing, but then he stirred and blinked, raising his head. She closed the door behind her carefully and he looked at her blearily.   
p"Rob," she said sitting down in front of him, "I'm really sorry we're not doing better with this . . . I mean, it can't be much fun to be sick around us . . ."   
pHe shook his head. "It's not your fault. I can't think why Batman dumped me on you anyway."   
pShe ignored how croaky and dry his voice sounded. "What's wrong with you, anyway?"   
p"It iwas/i pneumonia, but I can't seem to shake it. I think he was right," he said drowsily. "I'm just too stressed to get rid of it. I just keep thinking about -"   
pHe groaned and put a hand over his eyes. "Just go back to the others, Cassie."  
pShe bit her lip. "We do iwant/i to help you."   
p"I've managed worse," he said bleakly. "I'll think of something. Just wish I wasn't so damn tired all the time . . ."  
pShe left him to sleep again, but felt even more worried now than before.   
  
pcenter***/center p   
  
My eyes flick open instantly and I go absolutely rigid. For a moment I lay perfectly still and try to work out what woke me up. Then I hear it again - a clattering sound. I narrow my eyes. That's not a Young Justice noise. If it was, there'd already be an argument about whose fault whatever was.   
pI sit up slowly - my head feels a little like it's going to fall off and I worry it will, for a moment, before it occurs to me that it isn't likely to. What made the noise?  
pNot Red Tornado. It sounded like something smashing and he's too careful to knock anything over. Besides, he isn't here. The second sound was like someone walking through whatever had been knocked over. I try to think who it could be. No-one I know's clumsy enough to walk through something they'd knocked over.  
pUnless, I think wildly, they weren't clumsy. Unless they couldn't isee/i where the pieces had fallen.   
pI think I'm going crazy. King Snake is not here, of all places. But - just in case -  
pGetting to my feet is hard. If it is him, what'll I do? Call Batman. But Bruce won't get here for hours and I can't hold him off for five minutes like this.   
pI pause with my hand on the doorhandle. He'll hear if I open it. No other choice, though. I turn it.   
pThe cave is in deep darkness. I can hear snores coming from another room - sounds like my oh-so-careful watchers have fallen asleep. I don't begrudge them it. I've done nothing but for a week now.   
pStarlite lenses on. I stand perfectly still for a moment to let myself adjust and then I ido/i see a dark shape in the main chamber, the meeting hall. I wish I could stop trembling. It occurs to me that he's going to kill me, but then - he dropped over the cliff as well. He might be just as battered. If he doesn't know I'm here maybe I can-  
pA hand closes on my shoulder. For a second I think I'm going to faint with terror but then I know I have to do something. I spin around but a black-gloved hand catches my punch and a voice says gently, "It's us, Tim."   
pA light comes on in the meeting hall and I see Dick - well, Nightwing - standing in a splayed pile of dented cans and comic books. "Jeeze, you kids leave a mess." he mutters. "I could've broken my leg, you know that? Oh. No offence."   
p"None taken," I say weakly. I look up at Bruce. "You could've done it a different way. I was iterrified/i."  
p"Sorry. We just came to see how you are."  
pI shake my head wearily. "Don't feel any better. What if I never get rid of this? I don't want this forever, I can't-"  
p"Timothy," Bruce says in his warning voice, "calm down."   
p"Yeah. We have some news."   
p"Good news?"   
p"Just - news," Bruce says, and looks thoughtfully at Dick, who rolls his eyes.   
p"Sir Edmund's back in his office. Leaving absolutely no evidence to trace anything recriminating back to him, of course."   
pBruce looks at me carefully. "Are you alright?"   
pI don't know how I am. I feel - numb. Empty. Not good or bad, just hollow.   
p"Fine," I say weakly. "Just fine."  
pcenter***/center p  
I'm still awake when the others slouch into the meeting hall at about ten o' clock on Sunday morning. Surprise doesn't come close. "You're up early," Kon says guardedly.   
pI've had a lot of thinking to do. Trying to work out what all this means. Bruce and Dick went home pretty quickly, but I didn't go back to sleep. I've been sitting here trying to wrap my head around what's happened this past week, and I think I'm finally there.   
pOkay, here's the deal. Batman knew Sir Edmund survived the fall - you know Bruce; he just iknows/i things. He must've come to before me and wandered off, because he obviously had no idea where I or anything else was. Using his connections he could easily get back to his life.  
pOnce Bruce saw I was up and about he wanted me out of Gotham fast, because King Snake knows how to find me there and he's pretty damn mad, I'd think. So he let me come to Happy Harbor and then carefully closed the doors behind me. Sir Edmund can't find me - he doesn't need to find Robin, after all; he knows Tim Drake's voice, and if I'm on my feet and I go back to my dad I'm still in danger - and, he hopes, I can relax enough to get rid of the revenge of the killer flu bug from hell. I can't, because I'm going out of my mind with worry. I don't know where he is. I don't know if he's alive and after me or dead and on my conscience.  
pI ihate/i not knowing.   
pBut now - now I feel as if a weight's been lifted from me. Broken bones will heal, and even though I'm fully aware that sooner or later he iwill/i catch up with me, it's not a major problem right now. It's too far away to worry about.   
pY'know what? I feel like myself again.   
p"You okay, Robin?" Cassie says, giving me a very scrutinous look. I return it with a grin, and I think she's startled.   
p"Never better." I say, and I quite honestly mean it.   
/html  
  
  



	3. Part 3

Part 3

Part 3, and Young Justice free again, I'm afraid, but this is very short. They're back for the final part. None of the characters are mine, etc. etc. Thank you for your reviews =)  
  
  
  
  
Quiet night. A mugging or two and some jerk trying to smash open a cash machine. Very taxing.  
Not that I'm not glad it's quiet, of course. I'm still not on top of my game since - well, my little arctic adventure, let's say. We all know that. Bruce is still pretending he thinks I'm fine. Which is why I'm not meant to know Dick's been following me all night. Shall I tell him he's wasting his time? The night is _dead_. What could happen?  
I sigh and pause on a very bright rooftop. I scribble a note on a scrap of paper, weight it down with a 'rang and leave it for him to find. One good thing about my "big bro" - he's very, very, _very_ nosy. I know he can't resist. And I'm fed up of being treated like I can't even open doors on my own.   
  
* * *   
  
Nightwing watched Robin vanish over the edge of the building and made to follow, but his eyes were drawn to the scrap of paper. He stared at it for a moment. Well, maybe if he gave the kid some time to get away he'd be less conspicuous. Tim wasn't stupid. He'd spot him sooner or later.   
He landed silently on the rooftop and tried to walk nonchalantly to the scrap of paper. He kicked off the batarang and unfolded the paper, reading the short note and pulling a face. "Behind you?"  
He spun around - and Robin struck him straight in the back, bowling both of them over. For a second there was a complicated rolling mess skidding across the rooftop which finished with Robin on his back with his head dangling over the edge of the building, glaring up at Nightwing pressing on his chest. "Jeeze, you [really] need to cut down on the between-meal snacks."   
"You said _behind_," Dick said accusingly, waving the paper with his free hand, the other trying to keep Robin pinned.   
"I hit your back, didn't I?"   
"That's hardly fair."   
"And following me all night is?"   
Nightwing paused. "Okay. But if the Bat asks you to do something it isn't such a good idea to argue."   
  
* * *   
  
How exactly did I get into a staring contest with Dick? Only now we're both glaring at each other and neither of us wants to blink first. This is stupid. I could be the mature one and break it off but - well, then I'd lose. This is a hard call.  
"Get _off _him!"  
We both look up in shock and then Dick goes flying in a whirl of purple and blue. I sit up and watch and I'm definitely not smiling as Dick tries to hold off the furious whirlwind that is Stephanie Brown, the girl who never gets the full picture before she jumps in. I let them try to kill each other for fifteen seconds before I say, "It's okay, Steph. I think he's learnt his lesson now."   
They fall apart, panting, and I dust my cape off and try to stop grinning. I think Steph's scowling under her mask, and Dick really looks grumpy now. "Why am I the one that gets attacked? _He_ jumped _me_," Dick whines.  
"Don't be such a baby. You were the one following me."   
"Boys," Steph sighs. "Would anyone like to tell me what the heck is happening?"   
"Just a brotherly spat," Dick says, and tries to ruffle my hair. I duck under his arm and kick him in the shin. He winces. "What the heck was that for?"   
"Don't thick I'm not still mad at you," I snap. "Go _away_."   
Steph starts to snigger. I'm still not exactly happy with her, either. I suppose it's time to sort everything out.   
"He _said_-"  
"I don't care," I am not going to go crazy. I'm not. Deep breaths. Doesn't work. "I don't need someone following me to make sure I'm okay! Go_ home!_"  
Dick gives me a hurt look, and my anger simmers and dies, but I don't move, just stand with my arms folded and glare at him. He shrugs and turns around. "Fine. Call me if you need anything."   
I watch him until I lose sight of him in the shadows. Okay, what do you want me to say? I feel bad? Well, yeah, I do. But I've had a rotten time of it recently and I don't need to be treated like a baby.   
I also kind of wish Steph didn't see that.   
Don't think I can deal with this right now. I know me and Steph have had more than our fair share of problems and I should jump at the chance to sort them out, but right now . . . I have too many other things on my mind. I've sort of forgiven Bruce, even though he hasn't given me any sort of explanation. I just couldn't think how to ask. Why does everything always have to be so complicated?  
I hear Steph shuffle behind me and say quietly, "Robin?"   
I sigh and try to think how I can get through this, when there's a shatter and an alarm screams out. I'm swinging towards it with no in between. Stupid instinct. I wonder if Dick heard it. He was pretty far away last time I saw him. Maybe me and Steph can handle it alone. I can hear her slightly behind me, and every now and then a flicker of lavender in the corner of my vision.  
Two guys in ski masks, one waiting on a bike while the other's trying to scrape the ruins of a jewellry shop window display into a bag. The broken glass is shining more than the jewels, and I can see from this distance that he's digging more of that out by accident than anything expensive.   
I glance at Steph and she's aiming for the motorbike guy, so I dive on the one with the bag. I land a little too close but manage to kick him under the jaw and he staggers back for a moment before pulling a gun on me.   
It's odd, but you see the flash of light ages before the sound comes. That's what it seems like, anyway. I roll behind a car and hear one tyre hissing down, and detach a batarang and rope from my belt.   
I take a quick look to see how Steph's doing as I roll out to lasso him, and that's probably why the next bullet clips the side of my chest. The kevlar protects me from any real damage but I'm winded instantly and I know I'm gonna have a heck of a bruise in the morning. Ignoring the stinging, I throw the 'rang and line and trip him up so his head clops off the wall and down he goes.   
We'd better get out of here before the cops arrive. Steph's guy's revving the engine and trying to throw her off the bike so I quickly knock him out - he wasn't expecting a second attacker - and we make our getaway, leaving them tied neatly back-to-back for the cops.   
"Are you okay?" she says gently as we watch the street flicker blue and red from a rooftop, our two new friends being carted away to Blackgate.   
I'm getting sick of people asking me that. I put a hand over the rip in my costume where the bullet scraped past. "Fine," I mutter. It's getting early and I'd like to go home and sleep for the next week or so.   
She pulls her mask off and I try to avoid looking at her, because when she puts on her puppy-dog look it really is hard to feel angry at her. "Tim," she said quietly, and puts on hand on mine.   
Okay, choices. I can forgive her and try to forget all the betrayal and pain that made me agree to go on the stupid trip with Danny in the first place. Or I can stay angry at her for a while longer. Or I can break up with her entirely, and put an end to all the craziness and confusion, but - but I don't _want_ to. I like Steph. A lot. I'd like to find out how much. But still . . .   
I try to think back to trekking through the snow on a broken leg. In those few hours my thoughts were really, really mangled, kind of like dreaming on my feet - but I do remember a sort of panging regret that I'd never get to see anyone I cared about again. Including Steph. Especially Steph.   
Maybe . . . maybe some things are too important for stupid pride to get in the way of.   
  
* * *   
  
I _was_ going to sulk in the Cave for a while until I heard the alarm, but when I saw the others already heading to it I just decided to watch for a little longer. I _almost_ stepped in when someone started shooting, but they seemed to have the situation well under control. Anyway, I was still really mad.   
I think Tim's made up with his little friend. I can't think of any other explanation for all the soppiness, anyway. Ah, young love.   
I'd better get out of here before he notices me again, anyway. I run a hand over a bruise on my forehead. When that boy gets mad he gets _mad_. And I know full well that in the mood he was in at the time, if he wasn't still recovering he'd have had me for lunch. Can't say I don't exactly deserve it. We're both stubborn idiots sometimes. Maybe that's why we get on so well.   
Anyway, I'm heading home. Just hope those two don't lose track of time. Kind of reminds me of me and Barbara . . . maybe I can make a visit on the way home . . .  
  



	4. Part 4

Part 4

The not-very-grand finale. I don't know, everything just sort of . . . flopped into place without much excitement. Ah well. Apologies for the weird html crud left in the first two parts; I will be having "words" with Clarisworks.   
  
  
  
"Wait . . . wait . . . two seconds . . . _now_ he's late!" Kon cried triumphantly, tapping his watch. "I've got him this time!"  
"Give it up, Kon." Cassie mumbled, head resting on her folded arms as she slumped over the table. "He's allowed to be late once in his life, isn't he?"   
"Not if he wants to pretend he's perfect," Kon said, sitting back and folding his arms smugly.   
The most recent meeting of Young Justice was not going well. For one thing, Robin was late - and even though Cassie had tried to get the meeting going, without Robin's scowling presence they couldn't stay on subject for five minutes. They had already run through who got cola down the keyboard, Wendy the werewolf stalker, why Pokemon was better then Digimon and vice versa, how they were going to smuggle Secret into the concert the girls were attending next week and why Bart _couldn't_ keep a pet lizard in the cave.   
A beeping made them all jump. "What's that?" Cassie said guardedly.   
"Dunno," Bart said dully, still sulking over the lizard issue.  
"Uck, this is _so_ much easier when Robin's here," Cassie muttered, moving to the computer and staring at it in perplexion. "Where is he?"   
"I hope nothing's happened to him," Secret murmured.  
"Not yet, I'm afraid. Give me time."   
Everyone went rigid and then bounded from their chairs, trying to locate the voice in the darkness. "The disturbance, I believe, was caused by my tripping of one of your security systems." the voice continued, low and calm.  
"Who are you?" Kon said darkly, fists clenched. Voices-from-the-shadows was Robin's gig, not theirs. They didn't know how to deal with it.  
"My name, as far as you need be concerned, is the King Snake . . ."  
  
* * *   
  
Here's your question of the week; why did five masked "ninjas" attack me for no good reason and then book it? It wasn't even proper attacking. I don't even have a bruise. They just seemed to _want_ to make me late for the stupid YJ meeting. Huh. Maybe Kon hired them.  
I'm not _that_ late, not that it'll make any difference. Maybe five minutes. But if it was one second Kon would still never let me forget it. I'm feeling cranky tonight, anyway. Got into a minor prank war with Dick, which is why his skull is now mounted on a stake in my room. I mean, what kind of mature person does a thing like balance a bucket of flour over a doorway? Anyway, I put itching powder down his boots so I'll get my revenge in a little while.   
Hey, I have an excuse. I'm the younger one. I'm not meant to be mature.  
Happy Harbor's silent when I eventually arrive. But I can tell something's wrong instantly, and I sprint the entire distance from my car to the meeting hall where-  
- where I stop, stunned, in the doorway.   
Bart's sitting on the floor in front of Sir Edmund, clutching his face, a thin stream of blood running down his chin. The others have him surrounded but look just as horrified. No-one could clock Bart. How could they? You can't punch something you can't see . . .  
For some reason, this makes my blood boil.   
It's not _right_ that he beats up on Bart. He's not stupid but he likes things to be simple, and I can see him even now trying to work out what just happened, trembling slightly with pain and fear. Bart's not used to anyone being able to keep up with him. And he does look just like a kicked puppy when something unexpected happens.   
I march up and stand between Impulse, who's beginning to get up, and King Snake, who's sporting a pair of dark glasses. I can hardly breathe with anger. He doesn't have any _right_ to be here. King Snake's a Robin problem, not a Young Justice problem. He doesn't have any right to make their lives a misery as well.  
"Very impressive, Sir Edmund." I say, and even I'm surprised at how cold my voice comes out, quivering slightly with rage. "Have you ever fought anyone even half your age?"   
His gaze shifts to me even though he can't see me. I still stare straight at him, frozen with fury. "Ah. The boy. I've been waiting for you. I trust you had a pleasant night?"   
My eyes narrow. _He_ sent them, those crummy ninjas, to hold me off. Did he mean to kill Young Justice while I was away? Why can't he just leave me alone? "What are you doing here, Sir Edmund?"   
"Rob," Kon says, and when I glance at him I can see he's got a black eye. I pause. But then, if Batgirl can hit him King Snake shouldn't have any problem. "What the heck is the deal with this guy?"   
"His name," I say, backing up slightly so Impulse has to walk back with me and away from King Snake, "is Sir Edmund Dorrance." The man who wouldn't die, I add in the privacy of my own mind. Not killing is all well and good, but if anyone deserves it, it's Sir Edmund. "I don't know why he's here."   
"I should have thought that much was obvious even to you, boy. I've come to kill you."   
I've now got Bart backed to the doorway, out of harm's way. "Wonder Girl, get Impulse to the medlab. Secret, Superboy . . . over here for a second."   
It takes only a second of manoeuvering to get them both into the doorway, and then I hit the closing mechanism. I just catch Kon's yell of, _"Robi-!"_ before the door bangs down.   
The intercom spits at me. _"Robin, what the _hell _are you doing?"_  
I draw out my bo staff and turn to face Sir Edmund, who's taken a small bottle from his pocket. "You'll thank me in the morning when you aren't waking up in traction," I mutter.   
Sir Edmund shrugs off his jacket and I take a cautious step towards him. Haven't faced anyone near his league since the disaster at spring break. Didn't even know he was alive, but apparently he's fine and still fast enough to give Bart a nosebleed and Kon a black eye. He holds up the small glass bottle and I stare at the liquid inside, trying to remember where I've seen it before. It hits me a little like a ton of bricks.   
"Do you know what's in this phial, Robin?"   
I can't seem to take my eyes off it. "I can make an educated guess," I say softly.   
I'm positive now. It's spitting cobra venom, the stuff that - well - you know.   
As if he can read my mind, Sir Edmund reaches up and discards his glasses and I feel faint for a second, but hold it. His eyesockets are dark and empty, ugly-looking burnt skin blistered around them, from where that innocent looking liquid scalded his eyes clean out of his head. I swallow.   
He puts the bottle gently onto the edge of the table. "I consider it a fitting repayment . . ." he says, and moves into a fighting stance.   
So it's obvious what I have to do if I don't want my eyes dissolving. Win.   
  
* * *   
  
"_What's happening_?" Secret wailed, running her hands over the door but finding no crack. Kon had hammered on it for a while but they had been rebuilt, since the last time, so much stronger.   
"What the hell does Rob think he's doing?" Kon snarled, slamming his hands into the metal one more time. "That guy'll have him for lunch!"  
Cassie appeared again, a very subdued Impulse in tow, a plaster stuck across the bridge of his nose. She stared at the door for a second and then said, "Hold down the intercom button."   
They stared at the door and simmered at the simplicity of it, and then Kon pushed the button.   
A scratch of static and then Robin's distorted voice, very quiet. _"I can make an educated guess."_  
There was a long pause, a tiny tap, and then the voice of King Snake. _"I consider it a fitting repayment . . ."_  
"He's going to kill Robin," Secret whispered faintly.   
"Why'd he lock us out here if he knows that guy's bad news?"   
"Because," Cassie said quietly, "he knows we don't stand a chance against him either. Y'know what? We should call Batman."  
"You're _kidding_." Kon said. "We can't let the JLA think we need to run to them every time something _challenging_ turns up!"  
A sound broke the conversation and they winced; a short grunt of pain. They couldn't tell who it had come from. _Let Robin be okay,_ Secret thought, hands clamped over her mouth.   
_ "One to you, then . . . boy."_  
"Robin hit him?" Kon said blankly.   
"He's better than you give him credit for," Secret muttered.  
"I could vibrate through," Bart said, putting his hands on the door.   
"No," Cassie said, staring at the intercom. "I think Robin put us here so there'd be no distractions . . ."  
  
* * *   
  
Feeling a little light-headed as the adrenaline rush wears down, but I seem to be holding up okay. I hope one of them had the sense to fetch help. I can maybe hold him off, but there's not much chance of me winning this . . .   
But I have to. _Have_ to. I can't let him - he wouldn't. He couldn't, surely? You just could not do that to another human being . . .   
Could he?  
  
* * *   
  
This time the yelp was Robin's; they recognised it instantly and Secret gave a low moan of anguish. She looked around quickly and her eyes settled on an airvent.   
"I'm going in," she said firmly, and breezed through it before anyone could begin to argue.  
  
* * *   
  
The kick came from nowhere. Caught the side of my face. Stings. I stumble for a second but don't have time to step aside or fall; a fist clamps around my throat and that's it. Can't breathe.   
I force my eyes open and there's Sir Edmund, grinning at me. Can't believe this. I _have_ to get out of it.   
I kick and struggle and try to twist his hand off but nothing works, nothing. He's walking but I don't know where. He always was a lot taller than me and he's holding me almost over his head. Feet don't even touch the ground. Vision blurring and eyes watering. If I don't get a breath in soon I won't even have to worry about the cobra venom and whatever he plans for it.  
Hand on my face, trying to reach my mask. I kick the struggling up a notch, too blind with terror now to realise he can't _see_ my face. Strike something so hard whatever oxygen was left in my lungs is forced out with a breathless yelp. Takes me a second to realise he's slammed me into a wall so hard I pass out for a second. I go completely limp, unable to breathe, to see -  
The mask falls to the floor. Seeing everything in burning fluorescence from lack of air. The neon-shadow of a hand sears across my vision, reaches for the bottle. He is. He's going to - oh God, no, no-  
_"-no-"  
_ I don't know where the word comes from. I don't have the breath to expel it, surely? But the hand slackens; air floods into my lungs so quickly it burns them but I don't care, choke it down as fast as I can.   
Sir Edmund's face swims slowly back into view. "Go on, boy. I'd like to hear you beg before you die."   
Oh God, what am I going to do? This must be some sort of sick joke; you cannot knowingly do that to another person, you can't - oh God, he's got the bottle, he's uncorked it-  
I manage a whisper. _. . . sicko . . ."_  
He smirks, holds the bottle up to the light. "Ah, the supreme arrogance of youth. It's nothing less painful than you've ever caused me."   
I try to pull my head back, still held fast. Don't care about being able to breathe. Don't let him do it. "Wasn't . . . my fault and you . . . you _know_ it -"  
"I beg to differ."   
The hand squeezes for a second. Eyes water so hard my vision blurs again and I make a strangled noise. "Everything was going smoothly until you turned up again . . . _after_ I've seen you scream I still won't kill you, you despicable little brat . . . I'm glad you trapped your friends out. It gives me plenty of time to make you suffer. I'm afraid they might find rather a mess when they do get in . . ."   
From a million miles away, I hear the door shiver as Kon and Cassie pound it, screaming. Head lolls. I find the strength for one last word - my epitaph, I suppose.  
" . . . jerk."  
He raises the bottle and I screw my eyes shut but it's no help. I know I'm doomed.   
And then -   
A roar like the surf and something strikes Sir Edmund hard in the side. He doesn't let go of me but I see the bottle go flying and manage to choke out some warning. Can't let anyone walk into it. We both crash onto the floor but now, now I have some traction. While he's disorientated I grab the arm fastened around my neck and flip him over.   
It's like being born again, the joy of breathing. One hand over my aching throat, I search with the other for the mask and someone hands it to me. I pull it on thankfully. The pool of cobra venom lays innocently on the floor like a puddle of spilt lemonade. "No-one touch it," I say, surprised at how calm I sound.   
The only person I can see is Bart, who must have vibrated through the door. I turn around and Sir Edmund's convulsing on the floor. I take a step back. "What's-"  
"Secret?" Bart says, puzzled.  
"Secret!" I stare down at them. "Secret, pull out of him! You're going to kill him!"  
Her voice seems to come from all around, not inside King Snake. _"Didn't you hear what he was going to do to you? He deserves worse than I can give him."_  
"Yes," I say slowly, because I can hardly help but agree. "But we're not the ones to decide that, Secret."  
She pauses as if confused, and then,_ "What would it matter that a worm like this died? Who has he ever helped? He deserves it!"_  
I have to stop her. This isn't right, how can I make her see it? "Secret, [please]. Leave him alone. You can't just murder him. We're not above the law, Secret, we're part of it. Leave Sir Edmund_ alone_."   
There's a pause in which I pray silently, and then dust-coloured smoke emerges from his gaping mouth and Secret reforms, flushed with fury but looking slightly shamefaced. "Impulse, open the door, please." I say quietly. Now no-one's close to death, my gaze fixes on the pool of venom, shining under the lights. It doesn't look like it could hurt anything. I wonder how we're going to clean it up in a strangely detached manner, but all the while the thought nags at the back of my mind that it almost - almost - dissolved my eyes.   
The final two come in at a roaring pace and slow to a halt almost instantly as they see that it's over. Cassie looks relieved, but Kon's still jumpy. He sees the venom and pauses and I say quickly, "Don't touch it. I need to think how to dispose of it safely."   
Sir Edmund's staggering to his feet, leaning on the wall. I look at him and sigh. "Aren't you going to, y'know, _stop _him?" Kon says, raising an eyebrow.   
I feel very tired all of a sudden. "No," I say wearily, sitting at the table and rubbing my neck, grimacing. "There's no point, Kon."   
He gives me an incredulous look. "The point is generally that you don't let someone who just tried to kill you in a _really_ unpleasant way escape."   
"Here's a thought, Kon." I mutter bitterly. "Sometimes the bad guy wins. There's no point because - well, what evidence do we have? Nothing he couldn't "arrange" rid of. He's a powerful man, Kon. Even if we got Superman to vouch for us it wouldn't mean anything. Money can buy you out of most things. Anyway, Robin doesn't exist, remember? You can't try to kill an urban legend."   
He sits down. "You're really letting him go?"   
I can't see Sir Edmund any more, but I can hear him hobbling out of the cave. I wonder what it feels like, Secret giving you a total mental shut-down. Not nice, I'd bet.  
"Yes."   
Bart appears at my shoulder. The plaster over his nose makes him look, not to put too fine a point on it, utterly ridiculous. I try not to smile. "What did he mean when he said [you] did something to [him]?"   
"Yeah," Kon said. "When he - his eyes were all - urgh, I mean, Rob, you didn't - surely? Not our great moral leader?"  
I can feel myself going red. "It wasn't my fault," I say quickly. "I tried to warn him. No-one should have to- God, I'd never have let it happen if I could have stopped it."   
"So what did happen?"   
I squirm slightly. I'm not going to enjoy explaining this. "That puddle down there - Bart, _don't touch it!_ - it's spitting cobra venom. It dissolves cell membranes. He got some in his eyes when we were fighting . . . he blames me for it."   
"That's what he was going to do with it . . ."   
I look at the table. I don't want to think about getting that stuff poured into my eyes and somehow, the others thinking about it makes me feel really uncomfortable.  
"How did you get mixed up with a guy like that?"   
"Oh, we go way back." I glare at the shimmering pool of venom. "Right back when he tried to unleash the black death back into the world and killed one of my friends. Ever since then we've pretty much always been bumping into each other. Bumping very hard, in most cases."   
I try not to think about Clyde Rawlins much. It wasn't fair he died, but he didn't have much of a life as it was - his family dead, his entire existence based on revenge. It's not a happy way to live.   
"Robin," Cassie says, "what happened?"  
I sigh. "This is going to be a long story," I tell them quietly.  
"We've got time."   
  
* * *   
  
They listened in a sort of fascinated horror. Robin glossed over the story, making it as short as possible. He didn't look at them but hunched in the chair and stared at the table and spoke in a dull, emotionless voice.   
He told them about the first meeting, and the fight, and Sir Edmund falling from the window. He skipped most of their clashes, because he didn't want to share some things with them - like Ariana.  
"A while ago," he said quietly, "when I fell off the cliff . . . a friend of mine had been kidnapped by Kobra. You remember them," he looked quickly to Bart and Kon and then back to the table. "So I followed them to the himalayas and climbed after them. Inside . . . I didn't know he was involved. But he used my friend to open a Lazarus pit. That's like a big toxic bath that heals all wounds and lets you live forever. And when he came out -"  
He shook his head for a se to his eyes - and I really,_ really_ tried to warn him." He seemed desperate to make this point. "No-one should have to live through that."  
"Painful?" Kon asked.   
Robin nodded slowly. "You could say that." he said carefully.   
Robin didn't exaggerate. They glanced at one another.   
"I grabbed my friend and we tried to get out. Found our way out of Kobra but found ourselves stuck on a cliff edge - and that was when Sir Edmund grabbed me from behind - and then we got caught off-guard by an avalanche and when I woke up I was the only one there. With about two unbroken bones in my whole body. So I tried to walk it.  
Cassie stared at him. Wh- how far did you expect to get?   
He shrugged. Nowhere, really. I thought I was done for anyway . . . I was just killing time until the cold got me. Just before I passed out, three kilometres later, Batman found me. And you saw what happened later. And that brings us to now."  
"So . . ." Cassie paused. "So he wants revenge?"  
He nodded glumly. "In as messy a way as possible. He's not scared of Batman and he's definitely not scared of me."  
  
* * *   
  
Kon's staring at me in a really weird way. "What?" I say eventually.   
He pulls a face. "It's just - well, in the nicest way possible, _you've_ beaten _him_? He nearly broke Bart's nose!"  
Bart makes a snorting sound. "It didn't hurt _that_ much. And he gave _you_ a black eye."  
I don't have the patience for this right now. "You don't need to be able to fly and break things to do something hard, Kon. Me and the rest of the human race manage just fine. And _yes_, I beat him. Barely, but I managed."   
He scowls. "There's no need to get mad about it."  
"You think_ this _is mad?" I snap. "You wait 'til I have to tell Batman this happened. He's going to go_ postal_. I'll probably never see the light of day again."   
I stand up, pushing my chair back. "I'm going home," I mutter, and stalk out.   
I pause in the entrance to the cave and lean against the wall for a moment. It's dark now - the sun was setting when I arrived. The sky's a high, royal blue, and I follow the stars until I find North and get my bearings to see Gotham on the lighted filigree of the horizon. So many cities, but mine's easy to spot, the biggest and most brightly lit of the lot. From a distance, it's beautiful.  
It's not mine, though. It's his. Bruce's. He knows it better than the city planners did. But now it's been rebuilt . . .   
The soul of Gotham hasn't changed, though. It's just as dirty and seedy as before, only now it's dirty and seedy in nice, new buildings. I stare at it with narrowed eyes and wonder what my life would be like if I had been brought up in Keystone, or Metropolis. I'd still have both parents. I wouldn't be Robin. I wouldn't know who King Snake was. I wouldn't-  
"Robin?"  
I turn slightly. It's Secret, hands behind her back, looking very nervous. She looks at the floor.   
"Thank you," she says quietly. "For - stopping me. I don't really want to kill anyone. It was just -"   
She stares at me for a long moment. "Would he really - put that in your eyes?"  
I look back at the dancing light of the cities. "You don't know the half of it," I mutter. I'd like to know what "marrow" means, because he'd like to do that to me as well. It's not the sort of thing you can ask Bruce about, because he'd only worry. Maybe I could find it on the Internet. Just hope they don't have diagrams.  
I must have been lost in thought for a while, but eventually Secret says quietly, They're beautiful, aren't they? The stars?  
I look up again. There aren't many stars over Gotham; the city lights block out most of them. And they are bautiful, I suppose, when you look for the stars and not the constellations. My stomach tightens when I think of Sir Edmund, because it must be the greatest shame in the world that some people can't appreciate how perfect they are.  
"Yes," I say quietly. "They really are."  
I don't know how long we stood there like idiots, hypnotised by the sky, but eventually I shake my head and say, "I really have to get back to Gotham, Secret. Thanks for all your help."   
She smiles and I head to the car, but carefully, because I still don't know if Sir Edmund's out here. Big jerk. I glance up at the stars again. I don't do this often, so I hope they listen - because I really, really wish, one way or another, I get some closure on this issue soon, before it drives me to an early grave . . .  
  
  
  



End file.
